


That One Time They Actually Had a Real Customer

by Oakwyrm



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Markus is there for about nine lines, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5753812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakwyrm/pseuds/Oakwyrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashe is taking care of the bar when a practical miracle happens. An actual customer walks in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time They Actually Had a Real Customer

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a really bad day so I wrote a thing. Featuring mainly Ashe and an OC of mine. Shameless self-indulgence on this one really but as I said. Bad day.
> 
> No ships.

Ashe sat behind the counter, lazily drumming her fingers on the table top. Why on earth they kept the bar aspect of their business up and running, or even how, was beyond her. From what she had been able to observe they never had any actual paying customers. Well, not that their adventuring was precisely a stable income either, what with how often their plans went awry… or the money got blown up.

Still, unless they got a sudden boom of customers the moment she, Markus and Gregor were out on some new adventure she didn’t see how they could afford to stay in business. Though, come to think of it, it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if the bar suddenly seemed more inviting with Markus and/or Kyr missing. Much less chance of an explosion or some magic-gone-wrong interrupting your drinking.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening. She looked up, prepared to greet whichever of her friends happened to be at the door only to see a complete stranger. Instantly she analysed everything she could about him. He was… probably a spirit folk going off the pointed ears and the white hair. Not that she was one to judge on the  _hair_ specifically but the ears… He was dressed in a bright red coat with far too many buckles on it. Many of which seemed to be entirely superficial. His eyes could rival Markus’ in sheer blue-ness.

He approached quickly and sat down, looking over the shelves behind her and the make-shift menu that she hadn’t really thought they’d ever actually use.

“You seem to have misnamed your establishment,” he remarked in a tired voice. Ashe frowned.

“The name was not my idea I assure you,” she said, crossing her arms and staring at the stranger. He stared back.

“I say this because the stone out front, which I assume is a sign?” he looked at her uncertainly and she nodded. “It says the “Nine Shrines Adventure and Dines” but you seem to serve mostly alcoholic beverages,” she blinked. That… was true, actually. She filed that under “reasons to protest to the name of the bar” and turned her attention back on the stranger.

“I apologise if the name is misleading,” she said. “Can I get you anything?” he turned his eyes back on the menu.

“I’ll content myself with a whiskey,” he said. Ashe turned to the shelf, pulled out one of the bottles in question and poured the guy a glass. Honestly he seemed rather like he needed it. He had dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were severely travel stained. As she slid the drink over to him he rummaged through one of his coats many, many pockets and pulled out a few coins.

She was taken aback for just a second as he held them out to her, then she hastily took them and, after checking that he had paid her the correct amount, deposited the coins into the money-box beneath the counter. He downed the glass quickly and slammed it down on the table, perhaps with a little too much force but not enough to break the glass. Ashe eyed him suspiciously. In her experience any supposed patrons pretty much always had an ulterior motive.

“So who are you anyway?” she asked him. He looked up at her from his seat, looking half like he’d like to just collapse on the counter and stay there.

“Farrian,” was all he said as he handed her another few coins and she poured him another glass.

“O…K? So who is “Farrian”?” she asked as he nursed his drink. He stopped and leaned his head in one hand with his elbow on the counter. He gave her an utterly miserable look.

“Someone who has run out of inspiration,” he groaned and let himself fall down onto the counter with a thunk. That didn’t answer her question but he seemed too caught up in his own misfortune to notice.

“So you’re an artist?” she asked. He gave a small miserable groan of affirmation. Then suddenly his head lifted and the squinted at her. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “What?”

“This may sound like an odd question but… would you let me paint you?”

“What? Why!?” she demanded, perhaps a little louder than necessary. “Not… not that I have anything against you… painting me (I think),” she hurried to amend. He grinned.

“Great! Perhaps this small project will help me beat back that nasty artblock,” he hurried over to a bag she hadn’t realized he’d been carrying and pulled out a well-packed set of brushes, paints and a simple canvas.

“Should… I do something?” Ashe asked, suddenly feeling a little awkward. Farrian shook his head merrily. It was amazing how quickly his attitude had turned around completely.

“No, just be you, this shouldn’t take long.”

It took hours.

Not that Ashe minded, she quite liked the calm silence, interrupted occasionally by muttered curses and once by a very, very loud “fuck, no, shit” but it was well past midnight when Farrian finally stepped away from his work with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Not one of my best pieces but it’ll do,” he said. She craned her neck curiously and he smiled, waving her over. Cautiously she moved around to where she could see the image. It was… fantastic, honestly. The image was of her, obviously. She was sitting quietly… or, at least, that’s what the painting seemed to convey, silence and serenity. She had her eyes closed and her hair seemed to be moving with a soft breeze. Her sword lay discarded to one side as she leaned against the bark of a tree with the tiniest hint of a smile on her face. Ashe couldn’t quite tell if she was supposed to be relaxing or actually asleep but she liked the image a lot.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said genuinely. Farrian smiled and shrugged.

“Keep it then, I sure as hell can’t take it with me,” he looked sideways at his bag. “I’ve got enough pieces of my travels with me as is.”

“Oh, er, thank you,” Ashe said, looking the painting over again. She turned to say something to the wandering artist only to find him and all traces of him, save the painting, had vanished. Along with the bottle of whiskey, which was replaced by a few gold coins. She ran over to the door and saw a white head of hair vanishing into the darkness.

“You really should consider renaming this place!” were the last words she heard before he had vanished into the darkness completely.

“…huh,” she turned back to the painting and regarded it, not entirely sure what to do with it. As it so happened that was the exact moment a certain blond Tiefling decided to barge in. She wasn’t entirely sure what any of her friends had been doing that evening but the sudden interruption of her thoughts made her jump a bit.

“MARKUS!” she shouted, half irritated, half embarrassed. Markus came to stand beside her, regarding the painting with a curious gaze.

“Did we get more art?” he asked.

“No. Yes? Maybe?” she looked down at the painting again. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning,” she settled on.

“In the meantime, try not to burn down the bar,” she stretched and moved to exit the bar before turning with a final thought. “And don’t touch the painting.”


End file.
